Synthesis
by Scarred
Summary: In this world, she is all five.


1.

In another world, she was a hunter. As the sun rose each day, she grabbed her bow and the quiver of arrows, and slipped a dagger in the sheath at her waist. Her family was small, as she was the main provider. Father was dead, and Mother was sickly, worried about her littlest child: the littlest elf child who was already showing signs of magic. The Keeper already had a First, and only time would tell if her little brother would be sent off to another clan. He had trouble spelling her name, but Mother was still teaching him.

The wood was quiet, as it always was during this time of day. The birds were easier to hear, and the rabbits scampered across the ground, freely, comfortably, not knowing that she was yards away, bow at the ready. Her arms weren't wavering, like they did when she was still a little girl. The arrow flew through the air with a hiss, landing on its mark with swift efficiency. She didn't celebrate; she stood from her hiding spot and moved to the fallen animal, picking up her kill. The rabbit soon joined the dagger at her side before she walked on.

Leaves crunched underneath her bare feet. The wood was tranquil, and sometimes it didn't satisfy the blood running through her veins, but seeing the joy on her brother's face every time she was near was enough for her to quell any wavering thoughts.

2.

In another world, she was a halla. Graceful, beautiful, ethereal, admired. But she was also envied. Desired, sought after. Killed. To the untrained and naïve eye, she was weak and skittish, and perhaps she was, on the surface, in certain circumstances—though, not for long.

She was fast, courageous, and she had an enormous will to live. She would not be filled with arrows struck with magic, and carted away on someone's back. Halla were treated like trash, like their lives were worth nothing. No one can dig their teeth into her, manipulate her, and drag her down to the ground. If they tried, they would surely regret it.

3.

In another world, she was an assassin. Dark corners were her domain, and her weapon of choice was a dagger. No one knew where she came from, where she got her training, and if they wanted the answers, they would have to find her. Better said than done. She came from the shadows and killed with grace, and blood would flow like a creek.

Her name was a whisper on people's lips: common people, merchants, the nobles in Orlais. Safety was a decreasing commodity, and once it was gone, there was no hiding anymore. Once an order was given, she obeyed, no matter the cost.

4.

In another world, she was a mother. Her babe pressed close to her chest, the dark hair unruly and reminding her of her father's. She sang to the child as they fell asleep, the bare face looking up at her with wide, curious eyes until they closed. The eyes reminded her of their father, another elf in the clan. She knew him when they were kids, and when they got older, the match soon followed.

She stayed in her mother's footsteps: taking care of her children, the other women's children in the clan, stop hunting. It didn't matter how much she missed her youth, or how much she yearned to leave the confines of the camp. When her Keeper wanted a volunteer to visit the Conclave, she would have jumped at the chance, had it not been for him. He insisted she stay with him, start a family together, everything that she was destined to do since birth.

When she heard of the events at the Conclave, she wished she was there even more.

5.

In another world, she was a queen. She sat in a throne next to her king, her rightful mate, and not some hunter from her clan. People looked up to her, respected her, and waited on her for anything she wanted. It didn't matter if she had long ears; this world was made for her. For the two of them.

Rumors came around and called her mate the Mad King, the Dreadful King, the King who must be Feared, but she was called the Good Queen. The Gentle Queen. It was easy to keep up that image, because that was who she was. Her mate, however, loathed the terms flown at him. She would spend countless nights in their chambers, trying to console him, council him, advise him, anything.

This had to work, he would tell her. The world needed them, the Dreadful King and his Gentle Queen.

+1.

In this world, she is all five.

Hunting came naturally to her, and her arrow always found its spot. Her kills would satisfy her family, and the extras would supply the rest of her clan. But when she left to go to the Conclave, she soon found new targets. Humans, Red Templars, Blood Mages, Demons. Sometimes she yearns for the simplicity of the clan. More often than not, she remembers that simplicity and doesn't miss it at all.

Two daggers made their home on her back, and she was quick and skilled when it came to killing. With each kill, she found that it came easier to her. She didn't mind getting blood on her clothes. She didn't mind seeing them fall down and crumble to the floor. As long as she doesn't die, none of it matters. But now, she can no longer hunt or fight, at least in the traditional sense. She can still feel like her arm is there, right when she wakes up in the morning, but when she rolls over and tries to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she remembers. Those mornings are always the hardest.

Being an elf, and more specifically, Dalish, she was treated like a puppet. A spokesperson, a call for hope. Most times she didn't feel like herself. She had to fight time and time again to get herself together, to remind herself that she was not a defenseless halla. Her will to live was strong. She would not be manipulated. She stands up to the Divine and everyone else, and makes her decision known. The Inquisition is done. In secret, she plots to get him back, her rightful mate. She thinks of what could have been, back in her clan, and doesn't regret any of it.

She seeks out the unworthy and gives warmth to them. With the Mothers, she helps tend to the broken, the scared, and the worried. They need her attention the most. She is their guiding light, a beacon of a better future. When she's done with them, they are grown and ready to leave the nest, stronger and more capable than before. It's like watching a plant flourish from a tiny seed into a beautiful flower.

In the end, she comes out a leader, stronger than she would be if she stayed at her clan, more confident, more kind and gentle. Even with all the death and darkness she has seen, she has grown more sympathetic, more softhearted. But she is also fierce and loyal and determined. Her heart will not waver, and her head will remain steady, especially when so much is at stake. In other worlds, she is different, separated, disjointed. In this world, she is combined, full, and right where she needs to be.


End file.
